


Gloomy Afternoons & Sad Songs About Summer

by effervescentyouth



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Ryan Ross - Fandom
Genre: AU, Friends to Lovers, Gay, M/M, Possibly the slowest burn ever, Pre-2009-Split Panic! at the Disco, Pre-Split, Therapy, also never been to Vegas so sorry if my picture of it isn’t great lol, enemies to lovers...if you squint and look at it sideways, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-01-05 13:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effervescentyouth/pseuds/effervescentyouth
Summary: Brendon's attempting to gather the scattered pieces of his life in the wake of a whirlwind of personal problems. He distracts himself with a not-so-horrible job at a record store and more time hanging out with his boss, Pete and bugging that guy, Ryan, than probably healthy. If anyone could understand what he's dealing with, it would probably be the mystery guy Brendon's therapist has convinced him he'd get on so well with, if only she weren't legally prevented from sharing his name.ORThe one where everyone seems to be extra unaware of the complete fucking obvious and a therapist gets to play Cupid.





	1. Brkfst @ The </3 Motel?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> So this is my very first attempt at writing fic in a very long time, my first delve into writing this pairing and perspective and (after years of sitting in the distant corner, enjoying reading a variety of different fandom works from afar) my very first story shared on the archive! 
> 
> I’m sorry there will likely be much about this that is not perfect and I’m sorry this first little chapter is so brief! Going forward I’ll be aiming for longer. Any feedback would be wonderful as I’m kinda sorta just flying by the seat of my pants here, but please be kind. 
> 
> Going forward, any content that may arise in need of trigger warnings will be at the top of the pre-chapter notes. 
> 
> OH and the title for this fic was loosely inspired by the brilliant Arctic Monkeys! As was this specific chapters title, which was also inspired by 2000’s bad text typography. (As I’m sure you can tell.)
> 
> Thanks for stopping by & I hope you enjoy!

_Sunday _

It wasn’t the _shittiest_ motel Brendon could have stayed in. But unfortunately, that didn’t say all that much. The bedding was clean, the residual smell of smoke wasn’t completely overwhelming and based on the enthusiastic way the couple next door had been going at it for the better part of an hour, the staff clearly weren’t too concerned with what went on in the building, making them unlikely to ask many questions or pry. For now, this was fine. Which really, was excellent as that made for one thing Brendon could scratch off the mental list (that constantly seemed to grow these days) of _Things That Were Definitely Not Fucking Fine_. Though it was not a numerically organized list, if it were, “all friends and family hating me” would’ve probably been near the top and “hotel being a piece of shit” would’ve probably been a fair bit further down. But after driving almost two hours from Saint George to just-outside-of-Vegas alone, with nothing but the silent company of his broken car radio, finally coming across a motel that looked like something affordable and not an obvious money laundering scheme was really the only box Brendon needed checked to head in and call it a day.

The lock squeaked but hey, it unlocked and relocked with relative ease and the deadbolt gave him some reassurance too. Another win!

As soon as he was in the room, Brendon threw the red duffel bag and backpack he had with him onto the bed. It crossed his mind momentarily that his mum would call him stupid for not checking under the mattress for bed bugs before settling in, but it wasn’t likely he’d have found somewhere else to stay tonight anyway, so maybe blissful ignorance was best. The bathroom looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since the 80’s, the whole room the same sort of discoloured, sea-foam green. All of it. Everything from the tiles to the tub. The shower worked fine enough, so long as one wasn’t bothered by noisy pipes, and Brendon couldn’t care. So he steamed himself until the water started running cold - which unfortunately wasn’t all that long - then, the boy sat on the floor, skin branded lobster red and pressing into the cool, green tile. It was nearly an hour later that his sobbing relaxed enough for him to get up and dig out a clean hoodie and and boxers from the duffel bag on the bed. Thank god for that deadbolt by the door, for that was the only comfort Brendon was given as he settled into a dreamless sleep.  
  
  
_Monday _

It was almost 16 hours later that Brendon found he could drag himself out of bed. If not for the way thinking of facing the maid yelling “cleaning!” from the other side of the door had made his heart race, he probably would’ve stayed there. But after rushing to wordlessly slip the “DO NOT DISTURB” sign under the crack of the room door and waiting, crouched as though he had to hide, until he could hear footsteps receding and a cart rolling away from his room, he was too awake and restless to continue sleeping. And the way Brendon’s stomach growled reminded him that he’d need to eat too.

Slipping back on the jeans he had worn the day before, the newly-independent boy decided to explore the area that would - at least for now - act as his home base. And an hour later, Brendon had mentally catalogued two tattoo shops, a pizza place, a corner store, one and a half bars (half because one of them looked to be such a dive, Brendon was skeptical it could pass any legal necessaries required to deem it a recognized business) and a family owned deli that shared the neighbourhood with his motel. Thankfully, the family who owned the deli seemed friendly enough and had some very-affordable day old sandwiches and scons that kept the boy’s small worries of starvation at bay too.

On the way back to his room, Brendon dipped into the Motel office to inquire about the location of nearest library. _Tomorrow_. He vowed, acutely aware as he chewed on a hunk of slightly soggy bread that he couldn’t live off day old goods and his barely-there savings for long. He’d need to look for a job. But for the time being, throwing the uneaten portion of his deli-haul into the mini fridge in his room and planning a message to his mum out in his head till he fell asleep, seemed like a good plan.

_ Tuesday _

It took two busses and getting lost for 20 minutes to get to the library and Brendon had to stop at the corner store to get change before catching the first bus, so by the time he got there it was half past 12. He really should’ve cut his losses and spared the gas to drive, _and the money you don’t have for parking_, his subconscious reminded. Not to mention, everyone and their kid seemed to be at the library today. _Jesus, why were there so many kids?_ And normally Brendon liked kids well enough but it’d been a bad week, _understatement of the century_, and he just wanted to get to a computer, do what he had to do and get out. So he kept his head down and wandered towards the furthest corner of the block of computers and settled down, mentally thanking past-Brendon for being smart enough to grab his iPod before leaving home. Even with headphones in he could hear some kid screaming about something, but at least Weezer’s Blue Album muffled it.

Two hours later, with the help of a surprisingly maternal librarian, she called him _“dear”_ which was- well, kinda nice actually, Brendon had a handful of printed resumes and was headed into every business nearby that he suspected would take one. He was happily surprised that the two bus rides really made a difference and the neighbourhood around the library seemed less run down than where he was staying. Still an urban area but something about it felt closer to the “right” side of the tracks AND never mind the Neon Museum, they had an awesome looking record store.

One look inside and Brendon knew he had to work there. From the checker tiled flooring, to the walls completely covered in CDs and LPs, there was music magazines and albums everywhere. Not to mention, whoever was in charge of what was playing in the store, was playing David Bowie so clearly they had good taste.

“Hey dude,” A voice greeted with a drawn out ‘e’. “Can I help you with anything?”

Brendon closed his mouth, he had quite literally been gawking, and turned to see a short guy with long black bangs and a lot of eyeliner looking at him from where he was leaning against the counter. He was grinning lazily at Brendon and it definitely did not escape him that this man was _attractive_. Brendon swallowed the lump of nerves that had shown up in his throat.

“Are you hiring?”


	2. anything hurts < the quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon finds himself in the rarest of circumstances where following a strange man home actually is a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any errors, I don’t really have anyone proofing this for me. Please let me know if my tenses are alright, I know I tend to mix them up along the way and it’s an awful habit. As well, please let me know what you think! I promise this will get a lot more exciting as we progress and the time jumps will be less dramatic. Chapter title inspired by Troye Sivan’s The Quiet. Cheers!

_ Saturday _

Pete might have been one of the craziest guys Brendon ever met but he was also so fucking  _cool_.  He could rile off albums and songs and facts about them from almost any punk or metal band you could think of and he seemed to be friends with half of the people who came out of the Chicago scene. Despite this, his seemingly endless music knowledge extended to all kinds of other unexpected corners too. Almost once a day, Pete name-dropped an artist or song that was a favourite of his, or something he considered a “classic” that caught Brendon off guard. Sometimes, with the later title, it was that Brendon disagreed. Like one time, Pete calling The College Dropout by Kanye West a “classic” had sparked an argument that didn’t die out for the larger part of Brendon’s shift that day. But usually it was just that he had shared some unexpected, hidden taste. Like Ashlee Simpson.

(“ _ Dude _ , didn’t you see SNL?”

“She’s like, a  _ mega- _ babe and I like her lyrics, okay?” Was all Pete would say on the matter, but he made sure to play Pieces of Me  at _least _ five times that day, probably only one of which was to spite Brendon.)

Really, Pete was about the best part of the whole situation. Common music passion aside, he had kept Brendon distracted and possibly also from starving the first week he was there. Not only had he given him a steady income but he was always good for showing up with burgers or fries, enough for both of them, after disappearing while he gave himself another “coffee break”.

It had been almost three weeks though and steady income or not, paying to stay at the motel added up quickly. Leaving his car at the motel every day, Brendon had calculated, saved him a small fortune on gas and parking at least. Although he did figure he probably would have been better off to sell the thing, he couldn’t shake the desire for his situation to end up a temporary one. That his mum would call and apologize, tell him he could go back home and Brendon would drive back home and his dad would pretend nothing had happened. He’d go back to his smoothie hut job and finish his senior year and the whole thing would be nothing but an unspoken elephant in the room at family dinners.

But it wasn’t temporary, at least not for the time being and car or not, the dwindling number in his savings account could only make up for the excessive cost of motel living for so long. He needed a cheap apartment. Or a decent apartment and a (hopefully equally decent) room mate. But not knowing anyone or really much about Vegas, other than what he’d learned on the family trip the Urie’s took when he was 12, made finding these things reliably a lot harder. It was one afternoon while Brendon was ruminating about all of this, that Pete began to pry.

“So like,” Pete hopped up to sit on the counter next to where Brendon had his elbows resting on the counter. “I know you don’t like talking about it much, but how long are you planning to stay at that motel?”

Brendon didn’t move his head from his hands or look at Pete to respond. “I don’t know, dude. Like, I don’t know anyone. I don’t even know where to start looking for apartments. And I’m not 18, so I’m not even sure I could legally sign my own lease even if somewhere let me sign without a co-signer or collateral of some kind. And no one is exactly lining up to live with a broke 17 year old.” Letting out a huff after his small tangent, Brendon rubbed his face into the palms of his hands.

“You could stay with me? Like if you want, there’s a second bedroom at my place. There isn’t a real mattress but I promise I won’t like, be there to watch you while you sleep or some shit.” Pete was grinning at his own weird joke but both boys knew the offer was honest.

“Are you serious?”

Pete might’ve been the craziest guy Brendon had met, but by midnight that same night, Brendon was sitting on a couch in a small apartment belonging to Pete, just around the corner from 11th Street Records. His car was full of gas for the first time since he’d left home and parked somewhere in the lot outside and his few belongings were already in a room ( _ Brendon’s  _ room, Pete had emphasized) just down the short hallway. The two had easily worked out a rent agreement and Pete said he would talk to his landlord in the morning but that he couldn’t see it being an issue as Joe was a super chill guy. 

Based on the distant smell of someone smoking weed outside his bedroom window later, Brendon figured he had an idea of what Pete meant when describing his landlord as a “super chill guy”.

It was the first night in a while he didn’t have to concentrate on blocking out the noise of his neighbours on the other side of a paper thin wall and for that, he was grateful. He fell asleep on the air mattress, listening to the traffic outside and mentally drafting a text message to send his mum.

*

_ Friday _

“So you’re really into books, hey?” After just a short stint as roommates, Brendon had already grown accustomed to rarely seeing Pete without a book at least within arms reach. Not to mention, there were stacks of them  _ everywhere  _ in the apartment.

“I don’t really sleep and there isn’t really much to do at 4am on like, a Tuesday so...” Pete shrugged, a breath of a laugh tumbling from his lips. “You read much? There’s actually a sweet little book place just around the corner.”

*

Not that Brendon had ever been a particularly frequent customer of any book store, but he kind of had the idea that they were like libraries and you shouldn’t be loud and stuff. So when Pete bounded through the front doors of a very colourful and ornately cluttered store echoing with folk rock, rushed through half the store straight to a desk that looked like a work bench and practically shouted at the boy behind the counter, Brendon felt he was missing something.

“Hey, man! How’s it going?”

The guy behind the counter had long floppy hair, similar to Pete’s but lighter brown and when he flipped it out of his eyes to look up at Pete’s greeting, Brendon noted he wore probably just as much eyeliner. He had been hunched over a book behind the counter and seemed to be as caught off guard by the disruption as Brendon felt.

“Pete, hey. How’s it going?” The boy didn’t sound enthusiastic necessarily, his voice was as gentle as Brendon originally expected from someone that worked at a book store. He did give Pete a soft smile though, so perhaps he was as happy as Pete was, just quiet-er.

The boy’s smile dropped the moment he briefly made eye contact with Brendon.

“Did you get through Fight Club finally?” As quickly as he had acknowledged Brendon he had turned his attention back to Pete, coming towards them around side of the counter.

“I’m caught somewhere in the middle of it, well that and The Stand. Felt like it was time to enjoy Stu and Tom’s journey again.”

Pete looked fond as he remembered what Brendon could only assume was some special part within the “Stephen King classic”, as Pete had called it.

“I still don’t get how you could say you’ve read a lot of ‘modern classics’ when you hadn’t picked up Pahlaniuk yet.”

“I’ve seen the movie! I don’t know why you’d expect more from me, I haven’t even read past, like, the third Harry Potter.”

There was a brief lull in conversation while Pete grinned at himself and the other guy probably rolled his eyes or something, Brendon thought he seemed that sort of  type . Suddenly Pete exclaimed. “Hey!”

Brendon had just been beginning to forget any prospect of introduction, he’d busied himself with admiring a small fake bird that was in a cage nearby when Pete clapped him on the back.

“This,” A second clap. “Is Brendon!”

Brendon smiled lopsidedly, caught off guard by the sudden attention. A probably-too-long silence stretched before he reached his hand out towards the employee. “Hey, man!”

“Hi.” The guy shook Brendon’s hand quickly and turned the corners of his mouth up only for the brief moment their hands were clasped. If Brendon had blinked he would’ve missed it.

“This is Ryan, I met him at an open mic they hosted here a while back. He’s into a lot of the same stuff we are, dude!”

Brendon may well have blinked because in just a second it was clear he’d missed something, Ryan and Pete both faltered and Pete backtracked quickly. “He loves punk and stuff too.” 

Ryan nodded in a way Brendon couldn’t discern before guiding his attention back to Pete. Something about it was just a little weird but the two were quickly into conversation again when Ryan brought up some other book he was reading that Brendon didn’t recognize the name of. Brendon was quickly back to looking at the little bird and if he felt a little bit left out, no one seemed to be the wiser.


End file.
